


well, this ain't that kind of movie

by ravenraiyes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, Kingsman AU, and Clarke is Roxy, and they kick some villain butt, in which Bellamy is Eggsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenraiyes/pseuds/ravenraiyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“'I believe that word you’re looking for is thanks,” he shakes his head, eyes glinting in the light as he sticks out a hand. “I’m Kane, and I’m the one who got you out of here. Tell me, son, have you ever heard of the Kingsman?'</p><p>Bellamy takes it, calloused tan hands meeting paler, but to his surprise, they’re just as rough, with a firm grip that Bellamy doesn’t expect from a man who looks like he’s been born with a silver spoon embedded up his ass."</p><p>Or, the Kingsman AU where Bellamy is an agent and he kicks some serious ass with one (1) Clarke Griffin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. all posh and shit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Willaphyx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willaphyx/gifts).



> Kingsman is literally my favorite movie and I just found too many parallels between this and my OTP so here you go; for Maria because I am absolutely in love with her stuff

Bellamy fingers the glossy badge, contemplating what in the hell he was to do while being contained at this tin can of a police department. He was facing an eighteen month sentence - _eighteen_ \- after that stupid stunt he’d pulled with Rottweiler and his luxurious sports car - but man, oh _man_ did  that thing felt so spectacular to drive.

Besides, it was kinda fun seeing Rottweiler so riled up.

And honestly? He doesn’t regret a single thing.

(Even though it’s landed him in a bit of hot water with the cops.)

Speaking of which, he needs to get out of here. He flips the badge over, giving a hard look at the numbers engraved on the back face him.

The words “Call this number if you’re ever in trouble,” ring in his mind, a reminder of what his mother had told him as a child, handing him the metal trinket as if it had the possibility to cure world hunger.

(He doubts it, he’s had it for almost a decade and a half now, and nothing’s ever happened.)

He looks to the cell lying in front of him, and remembers the way Detective Shumway had sneered at him, remembers the way he’d not so discreetly jibed at his mum and the jobs she chose to take to keep their little family of three afloat.

He calls the number.

“Customer service?” A very posh, luxurious accent answers, and for a moment he’s frozen.

“Yeah, uh, I’m in some trouble at the station down here in -” He says after a while, stammering through the lines and hating himself all the while - Bellamy’s never been one to accept help from anyone - hoping to dear God this wasn’t going to be a waste of his one phone call.

“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong number.” The rustling of the receiver alerts him to the operator reaching to end the call, and he panics.

“Uh - wait!” Bellamy sticks out a hand to stop her, even though they're over the phone and she can't see any of his actions. Drumming his fingers on the table, the metallic sound easily filling the silence of the interrogation room, he questions, "Oxfords, not brogues?"

The quiet "Good day sir," and the soft click is resounding.

Shit, his mom is going to _kill_ him.

(If prison doesn't do him in first.)

+++

He's out, but he has no idea how.

Shumway just spits in his direction as the door to the room opens, "Get out, Blake."

He's stuck there for a moment, dumbstruck, but the snarled, "Did you hear me? You get to walk, Blake," does it for him.

Scrambling out of the chair, he steps in front of Shumway, who reluctantly unlocks his handcuffs with a grimace.

"You're free to go."

"Thank you, sir. Hope to see you again," Bellamy can't help himself; he smirks at the reddening face of the detective, lifting a hand in farewell as he leaves the station, scot-free.

(Huh, so the number _did_ work after all.)

He's turning the corner when an older man stops him, all salt and pepper hair, with an incredibly ornate outfit screaming gentleman to boot; Bellamy bets the ensemble that he’s wearing could probably pay their rent for ten months.

“Bellamy Blake?” the man queries, and Bellamy has to snort at that.

Someone that high-class couldn’t possibly be looking for a no good deadbeat like him, and he tells the older man so.

“I believe that word you’re looking for is thanks,” he shakes his head, eyes glinting in the light as he sticks out a hand. “I’m Kane, and I’m the one who got you out of her. Tell me, son, have you ever heard of the Kingsman?”

Bellamy takes it, calloused tan hands meeting paler, but to his surprise, they’re just as rough, with a firm grip that Bellamy doesn’t expect from a man who looks like he’s been born with a silver spoon embedded up his ass.

“No, sir, I don’t believe I have.”

“Then,” Kane smiles, straightening his tie, “we’re going to have a lot to talk about. Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?”


	2. all secret agent-y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Bellamy, do you want to join Kingsman?”
> 
> And, of fucking course, like the stupid bastard he is, he says yes.

Kingsman, Bellamy later learns is some pretty hardcore shit where you get to kick ass and look pretty damn sweet while doing it.

Like MI6 and James Bond, he’d commented offhandedly, looking about the weaponry hidden inside of the tailor’s shop in awe.

(Secret chambers are fucking  _sick_.)

“Yeah, except we’re much cooler,” Kane smirks as he taps the heel of his shoe on the ground, a blade sliding out of the toe of the oxford, and it’s all Bellamy can do from drooling right then and there.

He feels like a kid at a candy shop, looking about with his gaping mouth as Kane leads him further inside the chamber. Tons and tons of expensive (and to Bellamy’s delight, lethal) weaponry line the walls from top to bottom, and his fingers twitch at the thought of slipping a couple into his pocket - surely they wouldn’t really mind, they’ve got a bunch to spare - but he tamps down the urge to pull a quick switcheroo.

Besides, he’s sure Kane wouldn’t take too kindly to theft, considering what he’d done to Rottweiler and his goonies for just asking him to leave.

“Do you want to know what this does?” Kane asks, eyes glinting as he holds up a small pocket watch.

“It’s a bomb,” Bellamy says instantaneously, because he  **a)**  knows his spy shit because he (might’ve) grown up solely on James Bond movies,  **b)**  he's fucking nerd, and **c)**  he  _knows_  his spy shit.

(The watches are  _always_  bombs.)

“It’s a taser, actually,” Kane corrects, tapping the little time adjuster gingerly, “Press this thing and two wires attach themselves to your target and -”

“Zzt,” Bellamy finishes, grinning, and Kane nods approvingly, echoing the sentiment.

“ _Zzt_ indeed, Bellamy.”

After they finish - or rather, Bellamy finishes - surveying the massive arms store with minimal drooling and gawping, Kane turns to him with a smile and an extended hand.

“So, Bellamy, do you want to join Kingsman?”

And, of fucking course, like the stupid bastard he is, he says yes.

+++

 _Being_  a Kingsman agent, Bellamy also learns, is a whole other story.

Because not only is he training to become Lancelot - fuck the British and their need to have pretentious as fuck codenames; who the hell  _wants_  to be named Galahad or something equally horrible, like Merlin? - he’s doing it against other candidates.

It’s too much like the Hunger Games for his liking, and he tells Kane so one day when they get to rest. He's lounging in his sweatpants because he wants to be comfortable, Kane's in his usual tuxedo, and he's complaining in his rough brogue, feeling even more like an outsider compared to everyone else’s Cambridge or Oxford shiny colleague shit.

Kane just tells him to shove it up his ass and deal with it.

Not even a sympathetic look from the bastard.

But Bellamy has admit - it's kinda fun outsmarting everyone else, everyone else, who has posh everything and are used to luxurious rooms due to the giant titles added onto their names so they seem above the rest.

(Who even names their kid Charlie Jean-Delacour Francois the third anyway?)

He knows that he’s the best out of all these chumps, because while they have nice little degrees wrapped in fancy bows, he knows that none of them have actually gone out in the field, have actually gotten their hands dirty.

Princess, as he likes to call her, is one of them, no matter how much she denies it.

Bellamy knows her name is Clarke, knows that she’s just as well trained as the whole lot of them - he reckons that she’s ten times better than Jasper by a longshot - knows that yes, he’s a mature young man, but man, it’s just so  _fun_  to rile her up.

“Hey, Princess, how’re you doing up there on your high horse?” He says most of the time - it’s a great conversation starter - letting his smirk spread widely across his face, and she usually just flips him off in return with a harsh quip that would have normal men turning tail and running.

It’s become somewhat of a ritual: he lets out a offhanded, asshole-esque remark that only he could say in her presence without risk of debowelment, and she puts him squarely in his place after.

And oddly enough, he likes this rivalry friendship that they’ve got going.

A lot more than he’ll admit it, anyway. And besides, Clarke had been the one to defend his honor against Finn Collins and his group of cronies from the start, a move he had appreciated - blimey, did she have  _balls_  - as she’d told them in a sense, to fuck off, except with better vocabulary and a hell of a lot more words.

And she's not so bad at hand to hand combat, although he does have to say that she's a bloody good marksman.

He may or may not have avoided from using those asshole remarks for oh, about a day after they'd been forced to go to the range, afraid that she'd turn her skills on him in the dead of night.

(She fired at the target and emptied her chamber of twenty-four bullets -  _twenty-four!_  - in a matter of seconds. She didn't even miss once. Even Sterling, ‘marksman extraordinaire’, wasn't that good.)

 _Clarke Griffin is a powerful and useful ally to have_ , Kane's voice reminds him in his head - Bellamy isn't stupid, he knows this even though he's actually never seen her in action, just little bits and pieces during the training sessions or challenges they have together.

But this he knows for sure - she's an even more dangerous enemy.

And if he won't be able to win this stupid competition, well, let's just say he knows that Clarke Griffin will.

+++

He's screamed himself hoarse, after Sterling had pulled the dick of all dick moves and ejected his damn parachute in his haste to survive.

Finn had stayed, because he had some fucking common sense, thank  _god_ , and had pulled his cord at the right time as according to plan.

But because of Sterling's jackass move, Bellamy and Clarke are a bit separated from each other and it's kinda hard to get to her because they are  _free-falling through the goddamn sky_  and as Merlin has just told them a few minutes prior - one of them does not have a parachute.

"C'mon Clarke!" He yells frantically, and he can see herself shrink within herself, already condemning herself to her fate.

"Goddammit, princess, you know I'm not your knight in bloody shining armor." He mutters, and makes his way over to her, ignoring the precious seconds he's wasting because, as he's mentioned earlier, they're falling from the goddamned sky.

Is it too late to say that he fucking hates Kingsman?

Miraculously, he reaches her, and as he wraps his entire body around her, he fumbles for the damn thing -  _oh god he can see the roof of the castle in great detail this is it isn't it he's going to die he's going to die he's going to fucking die_  - and pulls it. Hard.

His grasp on Clarke nearly slips as they're pulled back suddenly - the strangled gasp that she released when he tightens his hold on her is filed away for later reference  - and the pure feeling of  _holy fuck, they're still alive_ , is coursing through his veins right now.

"Why'd you save me?" Clarke asks on the way down, and Bellamy snorts at the curiosity present in her voice.

Is she for real?

"I mean it, Blake. You could've won this whole thing then and there. I'm your only real competition in this thing. So, let me ask you again - why'd you save me?"

He looks down at her incredulously, meeting questioning crystal clear eyes, and clears his throat before saying, "I don't know about you, princess, but where I'm from, friends help each other out."

"Oh."

"Besides, I can't wait to see the look on Merlin's face when we land." He says, grinning, and whatever was that just then dissipates into thin air with Clarke's next teasing comment.

"Dork."

"Hell yeah I am, Griffin, what else did you expect?"

And they pass the damn thing with flying colors, he realizes as they land within the borders of the white emblem.

Fuck. Yeah.

(And Merlin's look of completely flabbergastment is so worth nearly dying, Bellamy decides later, letting his grin grow wider as the man gapes on in astonishment.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> totally planning to make the chapters longer as they go on! 
> 
> thoughts? kudos & comments are my drug B)
> 
> come cry with me on [](http://grounderbell.tumblr.com/>%20tumblr</a>%20or%20go%20tell%20me%20to%20continue%20updating)

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? comments? want me to continue?
> 
> i'm here on my [ tumblr](http://grounderbell.tumblr.com/) if you guys want to pester me


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